


The Couch Rivalry

by Beckendorf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmare, Rivalry, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, WinterFalcon - Freeform, sacky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckendorf/pseuds/Beckendorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don't think your pal Sam likes me.”  Bucky says to Steve. </p><p>He snorts, “That’s ridiculous Buck he helped me look for you, maybe he just needs to get to know you?"</p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes. <i> Yeah right, and I'm not the winter soldier. </i></p><p>(based on the Bucky/Sam rivalry meme on tumblr!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Couch Rivalry

“I don't think your pal Sam likes me.”  Bucky says to Steve one day as they sit together in T’challa’s Wakandan wonder house. 

 

Steve snorts, “That’s ridiculous Buck, he helped me look for you, maybe he just needs to get to know you?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. _Yeah right,_ he thought, _and I'm not the winter soldier._

 

T'challa's scientists thought it would be a good idea to take him out of cryo once in a while, to try and help counsel his mind.

It'd been a good session today, and Bucky looked healthier and more alive. He'd joked and said he hasn't looked this good since 1965, which just ended up making Steve sad.

His first few hours out were definitely more than a little awkward.

 Steve likes to train with T'challa now, whenever the King gets some time off, which meant usually Bucky’s left to his own devices in the Wakandan lair. Lair really was the best word for it.

Bucky was still in awe. Even occasionally being around for the last 70 years hadnt given him enough time to marvel at the way the world had progressed. There was no place as grand or beautiful in his recovered memories.

 There were winding corridors and secret rooms, every crevice was clean and calming, in soft tones that reminded Bucky of a desert. T'challa's staff made sure there were fresh flowers on every idle table or surface, but the best part was where the outside jungle grew into the rooms. Walls which had flowing waterfalls and branches winding around various parts of the structure. Huge glass rooms where Bucky could just look out and feel nothing but the wild peace of nature.

He wanted to venture into the jungle, once he'd gained control of the new arm T'challa had given him. But today was a day for resting and exploring his new home. 

Steve had told him to seek out Sam for company. He’d obviously thought, “Yeah let me put my two best friends together that’ll work”, an innocent idea and a great one, in theory;  except for one tiny detail: Sam hates Bucky.

 

Exhibit 1: Couch Incident #1

Bucky paced into the TV room, hoping to catch an episode of whatever new and ridiculous TV shows existed today. There were also some local Wakandan documentaries on and Bucky was definitely keen on learning about the wonderful country he was living in.

As he entered, he noticed Sam was already sitting on the main sofa. Bucky walked over, aiming to sit next to him when Sam stretched out his legs, spreading them over the expanse of the seating cushions, without even an acknowledging look in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of the sofa. He wasn’t going to be defeated that easily.

And if Sam suddenly made room on the couch when Steve arrived, well, Bucky would just say that he preferred the ground. “Better for your back” he tried, unconvincingly, as Sam concealed a snort and Steve just looked...concerned.

 _Better luck next time Barnes_  he thought to himself.

 

Exhibit 2: The Phone 

Bucky wants to go into the city-in disguise of course-but he wants to see people. People that aren't all the trained staff in the lair.

He loves Dr N’tara, with her soothing voice and gentle questioning strategy, who oversees anything and everything that has to do with him. But right now he feels claustrophobic.

He’s hoping Steve can take him. They haven’t had a prolonged moment together in which to just talk things through, but he’s on a conference with T’challa the whole day. He looked so sad and apologetic when Bucky asked, as if he wanted to bundle him up and take him along.

He assured Steve that he would be fine. He hated seeing that depressed look on his face.

It was nice knowing that people trusted him enough to leave him alone, though there was always one of T'challa's warrioresses wandering around too so he was never really alone. Or a danger to anyone else. 

In any case, this left one other option:

Sam.

He grimaces as he walks to the kitchen, knowing the other man will be there. Probably plotting a way to accidentally overcook Bucky’s breakfast.

He decided to go in on a friendly offensive, be conversational, do what people usually do when they want to make amends with someone. Or give the impression of making amends anyway. 

Sam’s at the kitchen island, texting on his phone. Now’s his chance.

“Hey Sam, can I have your number?”

“I don’t have a phone.” Sam replies, continuing to text as he makes to leave the kitchen.

Bucky groans. Maybe he’d go give T’challa’s gyms a run today instead. 

 

Exhibit 3:  Remote Reflex

They were watching TV again, Bucky needing something to fill his brain after a therapy session gone wrong. He hadn’t hurt anyone, just lost control for a second, which ended up making him feel rotten, despite the doctors saying he was improving. If the look on Steve's face was anything to go by, he wasn't improving at all. 

In other news, he'd asked T'challa for his own chair to be put into the living room so he didn't have to sit on the floor all the time. The king hadn't objected, just raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in response. Bucky suspected it wasn't at the top of the King's service list but sure enough when he'd entered the entertainment room there was an extra chair waiting for him. 

Today the Falcon was watching some ridiculous reality show where everyone keeps yelling at each other and honestly the family feuds were starting to give Bucky a headache.

“Could you change the channel?” He says, feeling ready to rip out his hairs one by one.

Sam grabs the remote and unceremoniously switches the tv off, taking it with him as he leaves the room in silence. 

Bucky heaves out a sigh.  This is going to be a long work in progress.

However the next time they’re both caught in the entertainment room, where Bucky's chair has mysteriously disappeared (he's about 100% sure it's Sam who took it so Bucky's back to the floor again), a documentary on the KGB comes on.

At the first sound of gunfire and Russian, Bucky feels himself start to panic. His breathing has become uneven, he's speaking but he doesn't know what he's saying. All he knows is that it's in Russian.

He hopes Sam can't understand him because he doesn’t want Sam to go. He doesn’t want to be alone-he can't be alone anymore. 

Sam quickly changes the channel, and the soothing tones of a recorded orchestra start flowing into Bucky’s ears. He thinks there’s a hand on his shoulder, a voice telling him to breathe, that's gonna be okay, they're in a place called Wakanda, Steve is nearby, Steve is here with him, I'm here with you.

He’s not sure if the voice is telling the truth or he's imagining it.  Right now, he’s not sure of anything.

It takes a few minutes, but it felt like hours,  before he feels himself calming down, the hand on his shoulder sending warmth and grounding through his body. His eyes begin to focus on his surroundings, and he finds himself beginning to relax as he recognises the cool sandy tones of the Wakandan decor. 

Sam is stil behind him, his hand on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky can't bring himself to look up, but he knows Sam doesn't need to see his face to realise what he's feeling. 

“Thank you” he manages to breathe out. He doesn’t get a response, but the squeeze on his shoulder is enough. It’s certainly progress.

 

Exhibit 4: The blanket

It’s no secret that they all have nightmares. No one is free of the clutches of night time guilt, and least of all Bucky.

He dreams in red and blue and silver, remembering each one of his victims as they flash into his mind. Sometimes he’ll remember Steve underneath him on the helicarrier, except this time he doesn’t stop. He loses control of his arms, screaming at himself to stop, to turn away, all the while his body betrays him, grabbing the gun from its holster, aiming at Steve’s battered face. He hears the gunshot go off in his head as he jerks awake in cold sweat.

He ends up throwing the alarm clock on the bedside next to him, winces as he hears it crashing onto the floor. The new arm the Wakandan scientists have made for him works seamlessly, and sometimes he feels it’s a little _too_ seamless. The annihilation of the alarm clock was a result of a very natural reaction. 

He’s shaking as he brings his knees together, resting his forehead on his legs. It’s a protective position, but it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

He sits there for a while, regulating his breathing.

The lights suddenly come on, and he startles, attempting to fumble for the gun he usually kept under his pillow; panicking even more when it wasn't there. The person enters, and he feels like a deer caught in headlights, almost gasps in surprise as Sam slowly walks in.

He gestures to the bed, asking Bucky’s permission to come in. Bucky nods slowly, moving up to make more room. Sam’s shirtless, wearing a loose pair of white shorts. He always looks perfect, Bucky thinks, as Sam makes himself comfortable on the end of the bed.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Bucky begins to calm down. Seeing Sam seemed to have surprised him into a calmer state. Almost comedic, if he thought about it.

“I get them too.” Sam says, his voice sounding like a shout in the silence between them.

Bucky nods and clears his throat, “Who’d you lose?” he asks, his voice coming out a little hoarse.

“My co-pilot, Riley. He was just a kid. Got himself shot out of the sky with an RPG. Missions never felt the same again.” Sam says, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky offers, genuinely feeling for the man in front of him.

“You got nothing to be sorry about. I mean it.” Sam says, gently putting a hand on Bucky’s knee. He’s found that contact seems to make him feel calmer.

Bucky bows his head, swallowing. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. But he knew Sam would understand if he didn’t.

“Was Steve always such a punk?” Sam asks, smiling. It lightens the mood as Bucky finds himself laughing, remembering the squirt he would find beaten up in the back alleys.

“Every other day I’d find him  bruised and bloody, lying in a trash can with the biggest goddamn smile on his face. He’d say “I had to Buck! They were harassing Suzie from next door!” or “I couldn’t stop myself Buck, they were saying that faggots needed to die.”’ He shook his head. “He was always standing up for them, little ol’ Steve. Course he’s not so little anymore. I’d pay good money to see them try and land one on him now."

They continue like that for the next few hours, swapping ridiculous stories about Steve until Bucky feels his eyes beginning to droop. He falls back to sleep, barely making out the sound of Sam leaving and dimming the lights. He smiles; it’s been one the best nights he’s had in a long time.  

As Sam leaves Bucky's room, he finds Steve hollering by the doorway.

"Thanks...for helping him. Did a better job than I ever could." Steve says, looking down at the floor.

"Relax man, you'd have done a good job too. Just that I've been through some training first." Sam replies, smiling. "You look like you could use a few rounds yourself."

Steve smiles. "I'm just glad someone else is looking out for him, especially now...when there's so much to be patched up. I never get time to see him." Steve looks completely torn up-Sam knows better than anyone what it's like to feel helpless. He's worked to hard to get Bucky, it's only fair that he has that right to keep him. 

"He understands Steve, and as long as I'm around, I'll make sure he's doing alright. I got nowhere else to go now, and my previous job...well let's just say the employers aren't on the best of terms." That earns a laugh out of Steve. "Good night bud, it'll be alright." Sam says, patting Steve's shoulder before walking off to his own room. 

Steve watches his friend go with a smile on his face, when suddenly he notices the bundle under his arm. "Hey Sam, isn't that Bucky's blanket?" 

Sam gives him a knowing grin. 

-x-

The next morning Bucky wakes up feeling more rested than he ever had in almost 70 years, and much calmer than usual. He stretches his legs and turns over, pulling his arms around him to warm himself up from the crisp morning air when he realises something is missing.

His blanket is gone. And there is only one person who could’ve taken it.

 “Son of a _bitch_!”

 

Exhibit 5: Couch Incident #2

He and Sam have been getting along a lot better now. And by that, Bucky means that Sam hasn’t overcooked his breakfast or accidentally put too much chilli in his food in a long time. That was a painful memory. The look of pure confusion on T'challa's face was almost as priceless as Bucky trying to cope with his mouth being on fire. He's the  _winter_ soldier not the  _summer_ soldier. 

But in between those incidents, they spend time together in T'challa's libraries or gyms, talking for hours or just enjoying the sound of silence. Sam's set Bucky up online now, officially, and Bucky has seemingly developed a rather fierce YouTube addiction since. 

However, there’s still one thing that they haven’t gotten over: The couch in the TV room.

Sometimes Bucky would get there first, and Sam would be forced to sit on the floor. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was mostly the other way around, and Bucky was getting a rather strong case of stiff butt. But today was different.

Today, Bucky had a plan.

Sam was sitting on the couch, remote held in one hand, feet spread out over the cushions. Bucky entered the room. They made eye contact for approximately 0.3 seconds.

Sam had the smug air of a man who’d won a long standing battle. But little did he know that Bucky had other motives. 

He walked over the couch, turning to face the TV, making it out like he was about to sit on the floor. But instead, he leaned into the couch, draping himself over Sam with all the grace only a trained gymnast would have. His leg went over Sam's as his head fell back onto his shoulder.  He could feel the other man tense underneath him, and he smirked. He’d finally won.

They sat like this for five minutes, Sam still tense against Bucky's back. He could feel the man's heart rate elevating beneath him, even though he seemed invested in the TV in front of them. 

Sam would not be defeated so easily. He snaked his arms around Bucky’s waist, clasping his hands together just above his belly button. They sat on his stomach for a few minutes before one hand started to trail down south.

It was Bucky’s turn to tense as he felt his face start to heat.  He slowly turned his head to glare at the man behind him. Their faces were only inches away from each other now.

“Sa-” He began, but his sentence was quite literally eaten up as Sam’s lips connected with his own. After an initially tense moment, Bucky shifted so he was straddling Sam’s lap, fighting to establish dominance over their kiss. As if he was going to let _Sam_ be the one leading them. No way.

They broke off for air, because even as far as supersoldiers go, oxygen was still very much a necessity. 

“About damn time Bird boy.” He said, resting his forehead on Sam’s.

Sam laughed, and brought them together again, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

Unbeknownst to them there were two onlookers witnessing their tender moment. T’challa turned to face Steve, who was watching his friends with an expression of pure pride, and a not so subtle hint of jealousy. 

“I believe, Captain, that you owe me.” He says, holding his palm out. 

Steve grinned, passing him a Wakandan note. “Guess you won fair and square, King matchmaker-don't think I don't know where Bucky's couch went." 

T’challa laughed.  “Well now Captain, then I believe my work is not over. A fair exchange for your deduction.” He pressed an ancient flip phone into Steve’s hands. “Call him, make amends. It is never too late to apologise.”

Steve swallows, looking down at the small device. “Do not immerse yourselves in other’s happiness and forget about your own.”

T’challa presses a palm to Steve's face, like his father would do to him in moments of affection. He leaves the statement hanging in the air as he exits the room silently. Steve casts one last look at his two best friends wrapped around each other. He knew T'challa was right. It was whether he had enough courage to do it. 

He counts to 5 before opening the phone, pressing the right buttons and holding it up tentatively to his ear.

“Hello Tony?”


End file.
